


Narrowed Down to Nothing

by zeldadestry



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-11
Updated: 2008-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:13:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When I read for myself, when I read to feel, I take my time, like anyone else."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Narrowed Down to Nothing

He doesn't even feel human most of the time. It takes a lot to upset him, a lot to make him happy. His feelings have faded to the point where he remembers them more than he experiences them.

He is waiting at a corner café, ten blocks from the Daily Planet, waiting for Chloe and Pete.

His life seems to be shrinking, his inner life. He doesn't care about anyone, anymore. It seems like it's all back to the six people who were most important to him when he was first discovering and exploring his powers. It's like he's been assigned two people to fill each role, and when they leave, there's no one else able to step in. His mom and his dad are his family. Chloe and Pete are his friends. Lana and Lex are the people he loves. That's it. He can't love anyone new. He's tried. He's tried so hard. He cares about Lois, but it's like how he feels for the people he rescues, it's all so abstract, just figures, numbers he's saved, statistics quoted in the paper. Crime's down in Metropolis, there's a booming tourist industry, primarily clustered around Superman. Superman himself saves his energy for where he can do the most help at once, stopping acts of terrorism, averting natural disasters. The days when he'd bring a kitty down from a tree are long gone.

He can see them across the street, holding hands. It's an unexpectedly warm autumn day and Chloe's cheeks are flushed. He can see them as though they were right across the table from him. Chloe's lipstick is a little bit smeared, Pete cut himself shaving and there's a little spot of crusted blood on his chin. He closes his eyes, leans back in the booth. The sun is shining through the glass. They're going to be annoyed with him for sitting here. It's too bright, it will hurt their eyes, too hot, it will make them sweat, but he feels so good here, taking in the energy he needs. He's like a goddamn plant, but he doesn't even need water, just this, just the sun. Just the sun and he'll live forever, until the sun goes out. That comforts him, knowing that when the sun goes, at least then, he'll be finished. He thinks of that guy sometimes, that kid back in Smallville, he can't remember all the names of the people he's saved over the years, people he's helped. He doesn't want to remember. This was the guy who could see people's deaths, who told him he had no end, that he'd just go on. Just go on, until one day the sun is dead. His dad is already dead. His mom is dying. Soon the number of people he loves will dwindle to four. Someday to three, then two, then one, then, then, some awful day he will be all alone. How many years will he have to endure, how many centuries, millenniums, bound to protect this world and its inhabitants through duty, not love?

 

"In the spring," Clark said, supporting her body against his own as they looked out the window, "We'll take walks in the fields. Everything will be blooming."

"I'm not going to see another spring, sweetheart."

"Mom…don't say that."

"It's ok, Clark. I dream about your father every night now. It's only a transition. This part of my life is ending, yes, but I feel like I'll go on. I feel like Jonathan's waiting for me and I want to see him again."

 

Lex likes being here, in Clark's home. There's a bookshelf in the corner and he's drawn to it, wants to know what Clark reads. He never expected so many books. "You like Flannery O'Connor?" he asks, finger running up the spine of "The Complete Stories".

"She writes about freaks." Clark stands beside him, holds out a glass of vodka. Lex accepts it with a smile.

"How quickly can you read?"

Clark shrugs. "If I'm reading to absorb information, it's practically instantaneous. Once I look at the page, I've got it stored in my memory for as long as I need it."

"You have photographic recall?"

"Yeah. But that's only for work, you know? When I read for myself, when I read to feel, I take my time, like anyone else."

"You read to feel?"

"Doesn't everybody? To feel something, anything."

"To feel like a freak?"

For someone who can process data like a computer, Clark still pauses before answering questions. "I read about freaks because it helps me feel less like one, less alone."

"I understand," he says. He does. He understands. He finishes his drink, asks for another. Liquor has its way with him, takes his defenses down just enough to be who he is, not a robot, hoping to defy his father, defeat his enemies, deny his own past. When he drinks, he can forget, not who he is, but who he pretends to be. Clark comes back with the drink, sits down on the couch and holds it, waiting. Lex sits beside him, takes the drink and the kiss Clark bestows along with it. "Wait," he says, and drains the glass again. It's enough, and his arms wrap around Clark, they're sliding down on the couch, legs tangling together. He knows, he knows why he's here, he doesn't need Clark to explain it to him. Clark is losing his mother, and he needs to be with someone who understands, who shares that loss. He wants Clark to have him, wants Clark to know that he's not alone. "Close your eyes," he orders. He wants Clark's body beside him, but he wishes he could be invisible, unseen. He knows he doesn't deserve this.


End file.
